The Last Church

Chapters:

Have fun at your St Mary's thing. We'll go to the movies when
you get back... :) Chris smiled as he read Justina's text on
his phone. She was one of the few who still refused to use text
speak; nobody else used the apostrophe anymore. He looked around
the bus at the other eleven history majors.

They were all seniors from his high school, all wearing their
best suits. Some were listening to music, some talked to each
other quietly.

He turned to look out through the steel mesh that covered the
windows. For security reasons they were all travelling together
in a single armoured minibus. The trip south into the city was 2
hours long, half of which would be spent travelling through the
dilapidated outskirts of Sydney. The cheaper suburbs on the
limits of Sydney had become home to what was now called the
service class.

Chris recited that particular history lesson as the bus made its
way down the highway, flanked by cliffs on either side.

As neoliberalism swept the globe at the end of the cold war,
outsourcing had been the death of the working class as factory
and farming jobs were outsourced to the developing world.
Instead, people whose education finished at high school were
destined to find employment in the service industry.

They became waiters, janitors, gardeners and maids, poorly paid
with little job security. These 21st century servants were
nicknamed the service class.

Those that made it into university would find employment as
specialists in the major transnational corporations. They became
essential to the running of the world economy and were handsomely
paid as a result. As the workers were mostly valued for their
specialist knowledge they became known as the knowledge class. In
New South Wales most of the knowledge class lived in the wealthy
north-eastern suburbs of Sydney, called the 'Globalist Arc' or
just the Arc, and worked in the CBD. Those that didn't live in
the Arc tended to cluster together around the state in what
became known as enclaves as they were usually surrounded or mixed
with the service class.

Inequality had increased with time as the two classes became more
detached from each other. It was only a matter of time before the
service class got fed up with their lot in life. Anti-capitalist
organisations started to spring up and violent incidents became
more common. The government dedicated plenty of resources to
keeping the Arc safe but the enclaves were effectively left to
their own devices. Hence the armoured bus to get into the city,
it was safer than the trains.

The bus moved into the outer suburbs and Chris could see the
effects of the knowledge economy for himself. Fiberglass shack
after fiberglass shack whizzed past, the occasional local
trudging along on the walkway. At one point three kids came
running out, throwing small stones at the bus. How could we
expect them to like us? Chris thought as the stones bounced
harmlessly off the steel mesh.

They continued on until they reached Chatswood which formed the
northern limit of the Arc along with Macquarie Park. The police
presence in Chatswood was clear but not overbearing. The barrier
between the two classes was invisible yet you knew where it was
when you crossed it.

The buildings inside the Arc were a combination of glass towers,
sandstone apartment blocks and sprawling gardens. The people wore
crisp, clean business suits or smart-casual clothing. The towers
grew ever taller as they reached the Central Business District
before they reached the pleasant greenery of Hyde Park. As they
came around the park they could see an old gothic construct which
was both monolithic and yet dwarfed by the corporate spires
around it: Saint Mary's Cathedral, the subject of today's
excursion.

The Cathedral was built in the geometric decorated gothic style,
inspired by the famous Notre Dame de Paris. The bus came to a
stop in front of a long water feature surrounded by dark grey
tiles. The water feature led to the stairs in front of the main
entrance to the cathedral. The students alighted and the bus left
to find a park. Everyone's heads swivelled upwards to admire the
intricate stone work, the ancient painted glass. A common motif
in the stonework was the waratah, the floral emblem of New South
Wales. Slowly the students made their way inside through the
giant wooden doors into the cathedral itself.

Once inside the group huddled around their teacher, Mr Taylor.
This was basically a treat for the advanced stream of history
students and it was by no means compulsory. They were free to
wander the cathedral and they would rendezvous at midday for
lunch. The group split up, some walking together in pairs, others
like Chris walked alone. He took his phone out of his chest
pocket and began to read from his background notes on the
cathedral.

The knowledge class was predominantly atheist; while personal
faith was respected it was mostly kept out of public life. As a
result almost every church inside the Arc had been bought,
demolished and turned into something more commercially sound.
Saint Mary's had been kept for its history and architectural
beauty. The Cardinal still held mass occasionally but most of the
church's remaining funds went into maintaining the building.
Chris had seen a couple of small churches in the service class
areas on the way into the city. Evidently religion was still the
opium of the masses; at least Marx had got something right.

Poor old Marx, Chris thought to himself as he walked among the
columns to the side of the pews.

The Marxists had their own version of the end of history but this
probably wasn't what they imagined. That's what the history
textbooks called it, the end of history, the final society, the
end of societal evolution. The energy crisis had caused Russia to
collapse and be rebuilt in the west's image.

China had made too much money from the transition to a knowledge
economy to ever resist the world order. The west had no more
enemies so this was presumably the shape of the world
forevermore: wealthy technocrats and their servants.

There was resistance of course, not just among the service class.
The third world was still mostly unchanged from the 20th century.
Corporations would build factories and farms, hiring the locals
for even lower cost than the service class. The corporations'
cultural and political influence inspired resistance in the form
of terrorism and so on but they were never going to defeat the
armies of the developed world. Besides, the military mostly
consisted of service class personnel anyway-

'Why are you always so serious?' said Jonathon Cam, walking up
behind him and breaking his inner monologue. He had been absently
staring up at the golden mural behind the altar.

'I have a nasty habit of letting my mind wonder. I started with
my notes on the secularisation of society and ended up pondering
the end of history.'

'Ah the big question, how it all ends.' Jon smiled, standing next
to him and leaning on the rail in front of the steps of the
altar. Jon had Chinese parents, brown hair, brown eyes and a
decent tan, he was mostly into the hard sciences but he had an
annoying talent for history, one of those people who could get
high grades with little effort.

'We have the most to benefit from it after all. Cheer up. Sounds
like you need some lunch.'

'It's not midday yet.'

'So? I know a place, come on.' Jon said, walking back down the
pews towards the entrance. Chris followed, gazing down at the
silver statue of the Unknown Soldier on his way out.

Outside Jon bounded down the stairs and headed into Hyde Park,
Chris followed somewhat more slowly. They walked for a while past
the business people and the joggers until they came to a café in
a corner of the park.

'I saw this from the bus on the way in.' Jon said. 'Stock up on
some carbs.'

Chris ordered a small chips, Jon ordered a large potato salad,
chocolate milkshake and a banana.

'I swear you eat next to nothing.' Jon said as they took their
seats. 'Nearly eighteen and you're thin as a rake.'

'With all the supplements they give us at school I don't see the
point in eating too much.' Chris said.

Jon shook his head in disagreement. 'Supplements are only going
to do so much. They make you tall and keep you from becoming fat
or sick but they won't build your muscles for you. You gotta eat
more. Eat more and train until it hurts.'

'Ugh, I hate training.' Chris said, resting his cheek on one
hand. The private schooling of the knowledge class, especially in
the enclave areas, tended to include a physical education focused
on self-defence. Knowledge class parents didn't want their
children getting knifed by disgruntled service workers on the way
home from school. Chris had done the minimum to pass the classes,
a weightless exercise routine every morning and jogging every
Friday. Jon had done a lot more and the results had spoken for
themselves whenever they sparred in class.

The waitress came over, 'Small chips?' she asked cheerily with a
well-practiced smile.

'Right here.' Chris said.

'Aaand potato salad?'

'That's mine, and the milkshake.' Jon said.

The waitress unloaded the box with the container on it. 'I'll
just grab your banana.'

Chris and Jon smiled pleasantly as she walked away.

'I was this close to using that as a euphemism.' Jon said.

'I was thinking of saying "Be gentle with it."' Chris said,
opening his box of chips as she returned.

She placed the banana down, smiled, nodded and left. She must
have been at least two years older than them but they would have
towered over her if they had been standing. It was a testament to
the quality of the supplements Chris had mentioned earlier, the
average Australian knowledge class male was 185cm fully grown, 4
inches taller than the average service class male. Even the
knowledge class women grew to be around 175cm. The dichotomy
between public and private healthcare was accentuating the
differences between the two classes.

'Speaking of girls and bananas how is Justina?' Jon asked with a
grin between spoonsful of potato.

'She's good. She's got circus society today. I'm thinking of
getting her tickets to cirque du soleil, they'll be in town next
month.'

'How romantic.' Jon said, deadpan. 'How far have you two gone?'

'Shall I use the baseball metaphor?'

'Everyone has a different version of the baseball metaphor. Just
spit it out.'

'We've kissed. With tongue.'

'Damn single sex private schooling. I guess you haven't had
enough time together to do anything else.'

'Too true. She's pretty keen on taking thing's slowly anyway.'

'Ah.' Jon said understandingly.

'And you? Anything happening?'

'Not at the moment no. I'm not too worried though. College is
co-ed, thing's will pick up then.'

'Assuming we make it in.' Chris said, licking the salt off his
fingers.

'Here's hoping.' Chris looked towards the park to see their
classmates walking over with Mr Taylor.

Mr Taylor, in true form, didn't lecture them for walking off
instead he just told them that the bus would leave at 1pm and
walked on to order his lunch.

Chris leant back in his chair, crossed his feet and his mind
wandered again. It was true that in just two generations his
family had created a kind of tradition, a set of criteria that
was to be met. Both his father and grandfather had graduated
university; both had served in the Vietnam and Second World Wars
respectively. Both had married respectable knowledge class women
and both had large stock portfolios that they managed personally.
It was an unspoken rule that he was expected to do the same.

It was good to have you're path set out for you in some ways. He
was given a trust fund at birth and had been taught how to manage
it from the age of ten. There was also plenty of freedom, there
were no restrictions on what degree he could do or what branch of
the military he would serve in. He wasn't sure he wanted to serve
in any of them however.

'Just thinking about the family and how everything is set out for
me.'

'For us you mean.' said Jon. 'We all have our parents looking
over our shoulders.'

'You never struck me as someone who struggles with family
expectations.'

'Of course I do. We all do, the birth rate is so low that we're
all only children so everything depends on us. The wealthy
parents always send their children to private schools so most
knowledge class families develop into these long dynasties and so
now it's our turn to carry on the tradition.'

Chris smiled, impressed. 'You're more than a pretty face aren't
you?'

'I personally like the system. It gives us a purpose.'

'A raison d'etre.' Chris added.

'Precisely.' Jon said, pointing at Chris and finishing his
milkshake.

'You're right I guess. Life is pretty good; I don't know why I'm
so unsettled about it all.'

'Probably the notion of military service. You're not exactly the
action type.'

'Well when you're asked to risk your life to defend a system it
does make you ask if it's worth dying for.'

'It's a pretty small risk though. Assuming you graduate college
you'll become an officer. Officers don't see much action these
days anyway. Shall we go for a walk?'

'Sure.' They got up and began walking down the main avenue of
Hyde Park while the waitress cleared the table behind them.

'Surely life in the Army is still dangerous, even for officers.'
Chris asked after a while.

'At worst you'll become a lieutenant, second in command of a
company of 200 men. You'll be snug as a bug at base camp, busily
strategizing.'

'So no front line work? How do you know all this stuff anyway? I
thought you were into the sciences.'

'I have a cousin in the special forces. The ADF has an unofficial
policy of keeping knowledge class personnel well out of harm's
way, the Special Forces being the only exception of course. So
you're thinking of the army after college?'

'Certainly not. The physical standards are too high. I'll
probably go for the air force or navy.'

Jon chuckled. 'Are you sure you've read the Manifesto? Did you
skip the part about the knowledge class having to prove itself?
That we can't just assume we are better than the service class we
have to show it in all three ways?'

'But he does have a point.' Jon said. 'We can't afford to become
some kind of oligarchy, relying on our privileges in order to
rule. We have to convince each other as well as our inferiors
that we are worthy of our rank.'

Chris noted the fire that had emerged in Jon's brown eyes as he
spoke. Chris envied his loyalty to the system, envied his faith.
Chris looked around the park as they walked, at the grand old
trees and lamp posts that flanked the avenue. Occasionally they
would pass a bench with nicely dressed middle class people
drinking and relaxing or working on their tablet PCs. Some of
them were accompanied by shorter service class assistants in
equally pleasant, slightly cheaper clothes.

'I never realised Jon. You're quite the philosopher.' Chris
remarked as they walked onto the area around the Archibald
fountain, the centrepiece of the park.

'On top of being devilishly handsome and a scientific genius you
mean.' Jon said, hands in pockets, looking at the bronze statue
of Theseus and the Minotaur.

This time Chris chuckled. 'You've given me something to ponder in
any case.'

An amazingly loud whistle echoed down the avenue behind them.
They didn't have to look, they recognised Mr Taylor's signal to
regroup. It was time to find the bus and go home.

They made their way back towards the café, cutting across the
grass to meet up with their classmates on the way to the front of
the cathedral. As they waited for the bus to come and collect
them Jon and Chris noticed an Indian man, maybe 21 years old,
with shiny black hair sitting on the steps of the cathedral. He
wore an exquisite charcoal black suit with a white shirt and red
tie. A girl in an all red skirt suit with golden brown hair was
lying with her head on his lap, he had his hand on her belly. She
was short however, presumably his secretary.

'Clearly we can fraternize with our inferiors.' Chris said to Jon
with a grin as the bus arrived.

'If half the stories about life after college are true, we have a
lot to look forward to.' Jon said as he climbed aboard.

'How do you mean?' Chris said, following Jon and taking the seat
in front of him.

'Well it seems traditional for graduates to move out of college
together and pitch in for a service worker like a maid or
whatever. Eventually each graduate earns enough to have their own
personal assistant and "fraternization" is quite common.'

'We are absolutely doing that.' Chris said, leaning over the back
of his seat, fist extended.

'Yeah we are.' Jon agreed.

They bumped fists and Chris turned back around to sit down. Jon
would start listening to his awful taste in music soon and Chris'
mind began to wander again.

Fraternization with the service class was apparently possible but
Chris had never heard of a proper relationship between the two
classes, like marriage. It was probably due to the intellectual
and financial differences between the two classes were becoming
too extreme. That and of course marriage between the two classes
implied that the two classes were in fact equal, contrary to the
Manifesto. Chris had to admit that in the face of Justina's
determination to go slow on the physical aspect of their
relationship, their similarities in interest and wit had kept him
interested for the past three months. Perhaps Joseph Carpathia
did know what he was talking about, he was a fellow Australian
for what it was worth.

The man himself was undeniably brilliant. Born into a modest
financial empire, he had graduated with a master of international
relations at the University of Newcastle.

He made his fortune selling oil stocks during the Israeli attack
on Iran's nuclear program. He poured the profits into a renewable
energy investment scheme which was later regarded as Australia's
saving grace during the economic chaos of the Saudi-Iranian war 8
years later. This earned him fame, fortune and an advisory role
to the Prime Minister.

As the world made the chaotic transition away from fossil fuels,
the Australian economy seemed destined to collapse. Carpathia had
been instrumental in transitioning Australia towards a new
knowledge based economy and the subsequent restructuring of
Australian society according to the 'trinity values' which were
inspired by Plato's Republic. Carpathia welcomed the new society
in a speech during the celebrations following Australia's
independence from Britain. The speech had found its way onto
YouTube and eventually became the bestselling book 'The
Manifesto'.

As the bus took the central coast exit from the highway Chris
concluded that no matter how much the knowledge class wished to
be rid of superstitions one still had to have faith of some kind.
Chris remembered Jon's wholehearted loyalty to the system, his
complete certitude that he was leading a good life. It drove him
to train and study hard and was doing his family proud as a
result.

The bus arrived at the top of the hill on which his private
school was situated. Justina was there waiting for him, the
girls' school was literally around the corner. She wore what
appeared to be pyjama pants and a purple top with a white
cardigan, her ash blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Jon gave
Chris a thump on the back as they exited the bus and waved them
both goodbye, heading left.

Chris and Justina held hands, exchanged a quick kiss and started
walking right, towards the local cinema.

'So how was it?' Justina asked.

'Epiphanic.' Chris said. 'I never knew Jon could be so deep. How
was the circus?'

'Jon? Deep?' Justina looked at him and laughed. 'Circus was
awesome. I've never been so high before.'

'I trust you're talking about the corde lisse.'

'Of course. I can nearly reach the roof now. Whatever else would
I mean?' she grinned.

'Well it's a good thing you are because I've hatched a merry
plot.' He said releasing her hand and wrapping his arm around her
waist.

'Go on…'

'I'm thinking I'll buy us tickets to Cirque du-'

'G'day chums.' A gruff voice interrupted from behind them.

They both turned around but before they could react Chris doubled
over as a knife plunged into his diaphragm. The assailant, a man
in his mid-twenties with blonde hair and a black T-shirt, service
class height, wrenched the knife out of Chris and took a step
back. Chris collapsed to his knees, hands clutching at the wound,
eyes to the floor.

Above him the assailant swung lazily at Justina, aiming to cut
rather than stab. Justina grabbed the man's wrist with her left
hand and punched him where his knife arm met his chest with her
right hand. The man's knife arm went limp temporarily and she
quickly thrust a spear hand strike at his throat. With a crushed
larynx the man dropped like a stone.

'Fuck. Chris are you okay?!' Justina cried, dropping to her
knees. She held Chris' head in her hands, he was pale, his eyes
didn't seem to focus.

He could see her though, he could see her blue-green eyes, they
were the last thing he saw as he blacked out.